


Mean on the Outside

by Tarlan



Series: Inside Outside [1]
Category: Traders (TV 1995)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-19
Updated: 2006-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant makes what sounds like a proposition to Paul in the elevator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mean on the Outside

**Author's Note:**

> After watching that elevator scene in the Season 5 episode - Budding Prospects - I could not resist the temptation to write this ficlet.

Paul saw the downcast line of Jansky's mouth as he turned away from Paul's second refusal to go for a beer and caught sight of his shoulders drooping as the elevator doors closed. He remained inside unmoving, thoughts churning through his head as he played back the weird conversation they had held on the way down from Gardner-Ross-Cunningham. The worst part of it was that the _crazy man_ had pegged him right. He was being defensive, putting all his _mean_ on the outside of his body, just as Jansky had stated, so he could keep the rest of the world at arms' length. The success of that action gave credence to Jansky's other remark. He was lonely too. No doubt he could persuade Ian or Chris to go out for a beer if he wanted but their presence would never assuage the loneliness because they didn't like him, and he knew they didn't like him. As Jansky stated so bluntly, nobody liked him. Jansky had, at least, been willing to get to know him so he could decide if they could become friends--or not.

Of course, the whole conversation had sounded like a proposition to Paul and, judging by the sideways glances, the other occupants of the elevator had thought so too. Yet, when Paul thought it over, it was not the actual proposition or the one proposing that had put Paul on the defensive but the public location of that proposition. The thought of these other people overhearing Jansky's proposition, and of them judging both of them accordingly, had caused Paul to go even more defensive than normal.

As the elevator began to climb back up the building, Paul considered the one and only time he had accepted a proposition from another man, recalling the way he had felt so dirty afterwards, knowing he had prostituted himself with another man purely to get a deal. Yet the actual act of sex had not been half as bad as Paul imagined it would be. Andrew had wanted it all from Paul, and had taken what he wanted, forcing Paul to his hands and knees while he took him from behind. It had hurt but at least Andrew had taken sufficient care so Paul had not torn. All Paul could recall was the burning of muscle stretched beyond what it considered to be normal followed by the most exquisite sensation as pain turned to pleasure. Afterwards, all he really knew was the soreness of abused muscle and he had spent the past few months trying to convince himself that the pleasure in between had been a figment of his imagination. Part of him wanted to know the truth. Part of him wanted to know if he could have enjoyed the attention of another man playing with his body when not under coercion.

Paul slapped the control panel, hitting the next two floors simultaneously and brought the elevator to a halt. He tapped his fingers impatiently as he waited for the doors to open and then shot out as soon as the gap was large enough. He raced to the stairwell, knowing it would take less time running back down to the ground floor than waiting for the elevator to pick up passengers on higher floors and bring them all back down to the ground level. His feet echoed in the stillness of the stairwell as he took several steps at a time, almost flying down to the ground floor. He raced out of the front of the building and looked first one way and then the other, wondering what direction Jansky might have taken, and froze when he saw the man standing only twenty feet away, talking to some old bag lady. Paul watched and waited, using the time to regain control of his breathing, finally stepping forward once Jansky waved goodbye to the less than savory looking old lady.

"Jansky!"

Jansky turned on hearing his name, his perplexed expression turning to delight when he saw Paul.

"I reconsidered the offer of a beer."

"Oh. Okay." Another quick grin and then Jansky had a hand wrapped around Paul's arm and was half-dragging him down the street in the direction of a bar that many of the traders in the area frequented after hours. Paul dug in his heels.

"How about we go back to my place? I have some cold beer in the fridge."

Jansky seemed to take a few seconds to decipher Paul words but then he nodded, leaving Paul sucking in a deep breath as he began to wonder what he might have gotten himself into but he reasoned that he could always stop this from going any further at any time. He half-listened as Jansky kept up a monologue about computers and gambling as they made their way across town but, finally, the door to Paul's apartment closed behind them. Paul shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it up carefully before taking Jansky's jacket. He walked into his kitchen feeling more than a little nervous and pulled out two cold beers, opening them quickly and handing one to Jansky. He sank down to the comfortable couch and licked his lips nervously as Jansky mirrored his actions.

"So! You didn't say if you'd ever read any of these Ethan Edwards books that everyone is talking about. I was more interested in space exploration and rockets. Gemini, Apollo, the moon landings and going to Mars." Jansky looked up and huffed up a small laugh. "Though we haven't got to Mars yet."

"I was more interested in comics."

"Which ones?" Jansky asked excitedly, and the ice was broken as Paul recalled some of his favorites from his childhood and found a kindred spirit in Jansky as they reminisced over plots and artists.

One beer became two, and then three as the evening wore on, until Jansky licked his lips and looked at Paul curiously. By now, Paul had discarded his tie, belt and shoes, and had undone several shirt buttons. He had convinced Jansky to remove his shoes too and, taking his courage in his hands, Paul stood up and sat back down next to Jansky, taking the beer bottle from his hand and placing it on the low coffee table. Carefully, he leaned forward and tentatively pressed his lips against Jansky's, tasting the bitterness of the beer and an underlying sweetness that had to be Jansky himself. When he pulled back, Jansky was staring at him with big, rounded blue eyes, looking for all the world like he had not expected to be kissed. Jansky raised a hand, fingers brushing over his mouth, and Paul had a bad feeling about this, wondering if he had read it all wrong. Perhaps what had sounded like a proposition to him had been no more than an innocent invitation from Grant Jansky.

Paul started to pull back, an apology hovering on his lips, only to startle when Jansky grabbed him back into a sloppy, uncoordinated and yet strangely satisfying kiss. The move from couch to bed was a blur of excited kisses and clothes pulling, leaving a trail of clothing that marked their passage through the apartment. With puppy-dog eagerness, Jansky flopped to the bed, dragging Paul down with him so they landed in a tangle of naked limbs, still kissing messily with fingers tugging through short strands of hair. Paul brushed his hand along the length of Jansky's body from shoulder to hip, feeling hard muscle and bone where he would have expected soft curves on a woman yet the skin was still as silken beneath his fingertips. He let his fingers roam over Jansky's hip to slide over one firm ass cheek, suddenly aware of what he truly wanted. He wanted to know how Andrew had felt as he took Paul's ass. He wanted to know why Andrew thought having Paul for one fuck was worth signing over a multi-million deal to GRC.

"I want this," Paul stated softly, running his hand over Jansky's ass before squeezing the cheek gently. Jansky swallowed hard, looking like a small innocent and scared child about to be abused. His eyes hardened and he nodded once, quickly, before Paul could feel like he was taken advantage of Jansky the way Andrew had used him.

Paul slid open the drawer beside the bed and rummaged around until he found a condom and something he could use to ease his passage into Jansky's body. Recalling how Andrew had prepared him, Paul wrapped his hand around Jansky's half-hard shaft and began to jack him off slowly. He balked as one lubed finger pressed at the small entrance to Jansky's body having never even tried this with a woman let alone with a man before. It had always seemed too dirty an act before--and too intimate; certainly too intimate to refer to his partner as _Jansky_. Paul rolled Grant's name around in his head for a moment before letting it fall from his lips.

"Grant."

He felt Grant still and then Paul's finger slipped inside, the tight ring of muscle relaxing fractionally as some of the tenseness ebbed from Grant's tense body. Tactile sensations flooded over him as his finger slid inside the hot channel, feeling the smoothness of the walls clenching around him. His heartbeat picked up as, for the first time, he could truly imagine how this tight heat might feel wrapped around his cock. Tighter than any woman he had taken, and smoother than any tunnel formed by wrapped fingers. Grant moaned softly, hips making tiny thrusts that drove Paul's finger deeper even as he felt Grant's now hard cock sliding through the tight fingers of his other hand. He smirked at the whimper when he stopped, feeling a rush of power over this man as he pressed in a second and then a third finger. The whimper became a moan and then a sharp gasp as his thrusting fingers brushed over a slight bump inside Grant's ass. He'd read about this reaction in some porn magazine though he had never anticipated his fingers being the ones up the man's ass, his own excitement rising another notch because Andrew had never given him this. Pulling out the three fingers, Paul repositioned Grant on the bed on his elbows and knees, and knelt up behind him. With infinite care, strangely awed at the trust Grant was willing to place in him while under no duress of making a deal or being paid, Paul lined up his cock and pushed forward.

It was every bit as exquisite as he had started to imagine, with his cock gripped in a tight channel, the heat of Grant's body bleeding through the thin latex. He placed one hand on Grant's hip for balance and leverage, and wrapped the other around Grant's slightly pain-softened cock, stroking firmly until Grant was thrusting into his hand and sweetly impaling himself in counterpoint. The rhythm was gentle, rocking almost too slowly and yet Paul could feel his climax building, his body melting as he fell over the edge with the heat of Grant's release coating his hand.

As soon as Andrew had finished, Paul had risen from the bed and walked into the bathroom, wanting to wash off the stickiness of spilled semen and lube, and emotional sense of feeling dirty. He had grabbed his clothes quickly, ending up on the balcony for some desperately needed fresh air as he finished dressing. This time, Paul felt no desperate compunction to get away from the male body lying next to him. Instead, he traced patterns in the pale, fine skin and leaned in to press a kiss against the nape of Grant's neck, smiling when he realized the other man had fallen asleep.

"That good." He snorted softly, knowing Grant falling asleep after some amazing sex was a compliment that women never understood.

He knew he ought to pull out of Grant's body before he softened too much and lost his grip on the condom but it felt so good, with each tiny ripple of internal muscle sending echoes of ecstasy racing through Paul. Eventually, necessity won out and he pulled away gently, tying off and then discarding the condom with a moue of distaste. Grant murmured in his sleep as Paul ran a damp washcloth over him, wiping away the worst of the mess, but he never resurfaced so Paul slipped back into bed behind him and dropped an arm over the sleeping man's waist. Surprisingly, he fell asleep quickly, feeling a lot less lonely for the heat of another warm body pressed up against him.

***

Grant eyed him carefully as they stepped into the elevator the next morning. They had performed a strange morning ritual, partly as strangers and partly filled with too much knowledge and intimacy as they planned taking Grant back to his apartment to change clothes and then driving on to work.

The elevator was empty save for them and Paul turned to Grant, cupping one freshly-shaved cheek and leaning in to kiss him quickly but aware that the elevator could stop at any floor on the ride up. He recalled Grant's words in this same elevator only yesterday and knew he had to say speak quickly.

"I have to put my... _mean_ back on the outside now. You understand, don't you?"

Grant stared at him for a moment, lips thinned, but he nodded and Paul knew he understood that they couldn't reveal the change in their relationship. It would do neither of them any good and might lead to friction with their colleagues. Yet, Paul hated the despondent look that dulled Grant's expressive face and he made his decision.

"Doesn't mean we can't go for another beer after work...now and then."

"Really?" Hope filled the deep blue eyes because they both knew they were referring to sex and not beer.

"Yes. Really."

The door opened to the GRC reception area and Paul wrapped his _mean_ around him as he stepped off the elevator, striding away without taking a backward glance. But if his step was lighter as he made his way up the stairs to his office then that could only be because his heart felt lighter too.

THE END


End file.
